Traps and Trials
by The What-If Writer
Summary: ONE-SHOT: ON a very hot New Texas Day, Scuzz and Thunderstick are given th task of setting traps for the Shaman. Their tempers high and trap-skills low, hilarity ensues.


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Traps and Trials

Setting traps were indefinably not one of Scuzz and Thunderstick's strong points.

The suns was blazing mercilessly high in the pink-purple skies, each of the three burning like competitive fires down upon the scorched sands and rocky landscape that was New Texas. The mountain shades offered little protection in the midday, and with a task you were not skilled at all mixed with the aforementioned heat of the day, one tends to get frustrated- and exhausted- easily.

Thunderstick would agree. And this was amazing coming from someone who was metal. Now, many organic folk would comment that robots can't feel nor detect difference in temperature- but this couldn't be any further from the truth. In contrast to little nerves in your brain that tell you your about to get fried, robots had little sensors that told you 'if you don't cool down your metal is gonna melt off' and their circuitry would overheat and start sizzling the wires in their heads. You were lucky if you didn't explode.

And metal heats up like frying pans, don't you know. So yeah, Thunderstick could feel the heat alright. So it wasn't a surprise when he found himself grumbling irritably as he and a small person beside him tried again to cover one of their sorry excuses for traps with leaves.

He felt his small companion's elbow knock into his, and some of the leaves he was stretching over the twig rods that held them up slipped from his hands.

"Doh!" He elbowed Scuzz back in annoyance, and upon getting a sharp elbow in the side, the prairie person let out a harsh, surprised cough and dropped his cigar through the hole they were trying to cover. Without a blink he reached into his pocket and fished out another, lightening it obviously as Thunderstick's static eyes flickered angrily.

"Scu-Scuzz!"

Hearing the bark, Scuzz jumped and looked up at him, carefully to clamp his teeth over the ciagr so it wouldn't join the last one at the bottom of the pit, "What?"

"Sto-stop your sm-smokin' and get workin'!"

"Naw, Thunderstick," He coughed while trying to place cover over the trap, watching almost hopelessly as they feel through the rods, "This no work!"

"T-tell dat to Tex Hex," Thunderstick snapped.

Scuzz drew on his cigar in annoyance. He knew well enough that whenever the plan didn't work (and this was often) Thunderstick would usually turn around and start yelling and blaming him.

"Hmmm..." He wheezed, "Maybe we find sheet!"

Thunderstick's eyes flickered to their non-static dots just so he could roll them, "Y-yeah. Shaman's totally n-not gonna see a d-darn sheet ly'in in da mi-middle of da road!"

"Well a bunch o' leaves no better!" Scuzz snapped right back, wiping the sweat off his forehead and trying his best to ignore the sun behind him. Why did Tex Hex have to get them to do with in Midday?

Thunderstick seemed to have the same thoughts, for he sat back and stretched his metallic legs out, looking strangle tired for a robot. "This darn heat's gonna fry my circuits."

He flinched suddenly, and Scuzz blinked as he noticed a small yellow spark crackle from the robot's forehead. "Scuzz see circuits-Cough- fryin!"

"...Shuddup Sc-Scuzz." Thunderstcick glared at the trap beside them, unfinished and lying like a pothole in the ground. "I say we scrap dis one. Let's go check on th-tha otha one."

Scuzz brightened up at the idea of leaving this frustrating trap to rot, "Scuzz think that better!" He stood and began wandering along, then stopped as The robot stood up behind him. "N-uhhh..were'd we put it?"

Thunderstick didn't reply for a moment, and for a moment his eyes remained blank dots. Then, he face-palmed heavily, his hat tilting. "Aw, Naw!"

"We forgot were it is!" Scuzz exclaimed with wide eyes, his cigar hanging stupidly.

Thunderstick began storming along the many dead trees and rocks, past Scuzz who watched him with blinking eyes.

"Of all day things we d-didn't need! C'mon Scuzz, we b-betta find it." The smaller outlaw hurried to follow him, coming to walk alongside him (or rather jog, since the robot had much longer legs.) He shield his eyes with his plump hand to aid his hat in helping his sight, looking over the landscape as they walked.

"Can't see anything!" He exclaimed. They must have hid that trap well. He perked up at that.

"Our traps must've worked- _wheez-_ huh, Thunderstick?" He stopped when he noticed that Thunderstick hadn't replied, and nor could he hear the robot's footsteps. "Huh?"

He turned around and found himself alone. Scuzz blinked dumbly for a moment, yellow eyes widening. He tipped his hat back away from his eyes, now with his back to the sun.

"Thunderstick? Were you go?"

"Up here, you dud-dummy!"

The prairie person looked up and gaped, eyes widening even more. "Whoa! Thunderstick!"

Thunderstick was hanging upside down, quite high up, from a high, stick branch of one of the dead trees. One legs was tangled tightly by a rope, the robot's arms hanging dejectedly past his head.

Scuzz blinked again when he noticed something other than the bizarre position his robot friend was in. He frowned. "How your hat stay on?"

Thunderstick's static eyes flickered dangerously, "GET ME DOWN YA MORON!"

Scuzz scowled up at him, and at the name he'd been called, whipped out his lazor gun and fired up at the rope despite the bot's protests. With a clank, the bot landed beside him on his head before flopping onto his back. He law there for a moment. Scuzz took the moment to cackle meanly. "Serves you right for callin' em stuff!"

"...Scuzz."

"What?"

"Next time we set tr-aps...let's get Sand dude ta do it."

Scuzz snickered a little at the mental image of the other outlaw hanging upside down like Thunderstick had a moment ago, "We get him to hang upside down!"

Thunderstick finally stood and straightened his hat, secretly pondering on whether or not to throw Scuzz over the mountain. Then, he shrugged. Little fella got him back for the names, guess fair was fair.

"The trap works," Scuzz coughed loudly, "_Let's-wheeze-_go to the saloon!" He grinned a little as he thought of something.

"Bet you don't beat me at cards!"

"You-you're on, Shortstuff."

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